Nathan's will
by PB Headless
Summary: Contains /subtle/ spoilers for the ending of series one. Rated for language, because, well, Nathan is Nathan. Written end of series one, but it's pretty timeline flexible otherwise.


I had to write this down, the idea has been in my head too long. Well. Long live Nathan!

* * *

The office was clean. Too clean. The slab of a desk dominating most of the space had pens neatly arranged on it's surface. They were perfectly parallel, as if someone had spent the best parts of several hours to ensure this. The only window was directly facing the sun at this time, but there was a blind half pulled across it. The slats had been angled as such that the light that did escape crossed perfectly across the pen selection. There were a few nondescript plants - presumably to make the office appear more homely and welcoming - and a tray of biscuits balanced on the edge. Tesco's own brand. You could see the wrapper jutting out of the paper bin in the corner. The whole effect was finalised by the slightly juddery filament light, which cast a cheap glow over the room.

Mr Moresy liked to believe he gave the impression he cared.

A secretary stuck her head round the door and regarded him through heavily made-up lids. "Sir - Mr Young for you, sir. The one about a will."

"Send him in, Susanne."

The secretary frowned at the use of her full name but knew better than to compete with her boss. She disappeared for a moment, before pushing the door fully open with a surly looking youth in tow.

"All right, all right, mum. I'll get it done, stop harpin' on about it. Jesus, who gets a will done when they're twenty two?" The lad walked backwards into the room, making a show of putting his hand on the (perfectly polished, 3 inch diameter frosted steel) doorknob and entering the room. "Jesus." He repeated, throwing himself in the spare chair. "Women, eh?" He threw his hands up in mock frustration. When Mr Moresy (Mr Professional, no matter what may be said about him) did not respond, Nathan raised an eyebrow and cupped both his hands to his own skinny chest, representing breasts. "Women? Females? Members of the non-male population?" When non elicited a response, his hands fell into his lap and he regarded the lawyer with disappointment. "Well. You got a fine example with that Susi who works here, she's gorgeous." He emphasised it by mimicking breasts again. "What I wouldn't give -"

"Mr Young." Moresy spoke for the first time. His voice was tired and deflated. "We have much to attend to. I suggest you make good use of this time."

Nathan fell silent, his hands once again falling to his lap. Mr Morsey took that as a sign to continue. "Now, there is a small amount of paper work - stictly ticking boxes, I've indicated where you have to sign and then we can address the matter of your actual will." As he talked, in a monotonous drawl, he pilfered forms and documents from the pile in front of him and ordered them and reordered them until he was satisfied. He moved the biscuit platter aside - not before Nathan had crammed a few into his mouth - and set the papers in front of him.

As he watched the boy fill in his full name and address, he couldn't help but wonder what had brought the boy to secure a will. Usually, something was arranged when they were 18 and then it was left untouched until they got married or brought a house. He looked far too young for both.

They continued in silence. There was the odd comment - a repeated case of deciphering the lawyer talk and the boy's unimpressed shots back - but otherwise he could hear the beeping of offices next door and the scraping of chairs as the occupants moved around. Finally done, Nathan pushed the forms back towards him and waited for him to check it over whilst subtly calculating the distance to the ground outside the window. Mr Morsey filed the papers away.

"Excellent. Now comes a matter of your actual will. What instructions do you apply should you be found dead?"

Nathan didn't consider it for a moment. "Walk away, buy a cuppa, forget about it?" At the responding frown, he translated. "Just leave me alone as long as possible?"

"Do you consent to being subjected to a mortuary?" Mr Morsey looked up briefly from his writing.

"Oh god no. I don't mind being taken into a hospital so they can clean me up a bit but I want to be put in my own bed at home." Nathan conceded. "And left there. For about, 2 weeks? 3?"

Moresy raised an eyebrow. "Usually a body is contained for that amount of time if the relatives have issues organising a funeral. And certainly not contained in domestic environment, it's not sanitary."

"My mum will cope. It's like my final wish and all? You have to go through with that."

Mr Moresy said nothing.

"Once the three weeks is up, I want to be buried. In a nice coffin. Good quality, very comfy. Big enough so someone my height can sit up in it despite the mattress and pillow." Nathan adopted a faraway look, a slow grin spreading across his face at the thought.

"So no to cremation?" Moresy clarified, still scrawling on his paper.

Nathan nearly fell out of his chair. "No. No to cremation. Definitely no cremation."

"Right." Morsey coughed awkwardly and made a note. "And your possessions?"

"I will be buried with my iPod. Oh! And my mobile phone." Nathan responded quickly. "If you can get my coffin hooked up to the mains with a cable T.V. that would be awesome as well."

"And if such technologies are unavailable?" Morsey underlined 'iPod' on his notes.

"Oh." Nathan looked put out. "Well then, I'll deal with a pair of socks and a porn mag, please."

Morsey didn't ask.

"The rest of my possessions go to Kels. Kelly B." Nathan dictated. "She'll know what to do with it."

Morsey regarded him with barley diluted exasperation. "Does your money go to _Kels _as well?"

"Yes." Nathan shifted in his chair. "No. 60% of it does. The other 40% should be donated to the Young Mothers association."

It was the lawyer's turn to nearly fall out of his chair. "Young mothers association? The charity?"

"Yeah. You have to feel sorry for them poor bitches." Nathan shifted awkwardly.

"Right." Mr Morsey backtracked, and hastily re straightened his tie. Professional. Yes, he was a professional. "Do you have any preference for your funeral arrangements?"

Nathan forgot all about the young mothers and began to enthusiastically describe a fireworks show. "It's got to be big, and spell out something like 'You can't get rid of me that easily, fuckers' or 'I'll be back'"

The lawyer massaged his temples. This was going to be a long day.


End file.
